Even as the brown envelope fell off my listless fingers I kept on staring at the falling leaves, the yellow, brown, and dried leaves. They were now useless, once they had been a sign of new life. In a way they were slaves, and their falling off; a sign of freedom. For years they toiled under the great sun to produce food for the tree, the tree produced fruits and then shed off the old leaves, to be trodden by every feet that walks through the tree's path: a dismissal of all its sacrifices.

The harmattan breeze was chilling even as it slowly gave way to the glorious sun and the sound of the kids racing around the enormous compound filled my heart with joy. An emotion I had forgotten how to feel before I came here.

I bent down to pick the brown envelope and made my way back into the enormous building behind. The reflection in the mirror came into my line of vision as I walked across the room and I studied the woman looking back at me. I do not suffer false modesty. The woman staring back at me was exceptionally beautiful, her figure still full and her face unmarred. Why then was I cast aside?

Shaking my head free of useless sentiments, I removed and unfolded the letter in the brown envelope before sitting at my desk to pen back a reply. How on earth did she find me? Happiness flooded my heart as I remembered her words and I was tempted to read through the pages of her letter again, though I have already read it over five times. Her happiness made me happy.

Dear Beatrice,
You do not know how much of a surprise it was for me to receive a letter from you. I cannot believe it has been thirty-one years since we last spoke. How did you ever find me?

I'm so happy to hear that you are living the happy ever after that we both dreamt of having. “How have you been?” Those four words which you wrote in capital letters are so loaded. My life has more twists and turns than a Korean seasonal film. I hope you are laughing because I would like to think that I have developed a sense of humour over the years.

Remember how we used to fantasise about our future husbands? My husband had to be tall, handsome, caring, loving, romantic, religious, sensitive and all that, we would say. Looking back, I think we should have just gotten our own clay and moulded the perfect man that we wanted. But I am so glad that you lowered your impossible standards and settled for the best you could find.

I can still remember the last day we saw each other. We were just thirteen and our parents thought we were viruses for each other. My father thought you would convert me to a Christian while yours thought I'd convert you to a Muslim. But we never cared about all of that, did we? All we cared about was sharing our gists from the weekend, our biscuits and goody goody sweet. Some people think ignorance is worse than death but how I long for ignorance. Oh, the wonderful bliss of being ignorant of the heartache the world has to offer.

I can't believe I had to go through senior secondary school without you. I did make other friends but none of them were as memorable as you. I was telling my friend in the shelter about you yesterday. I feel like such a failure, you know. You are now all that you dreamt you would be but I am all that I never thought I'd be. An old woman with no family, mooching off someone else's charity.

Within a week or two I should be through my letter, I thought sadly, folding the incomplete letter and dropping it, along with my pen in the drawer.

The dry but cold harmattan wind ruffled the lapels of my cloak and brushed the tip of my hair which hung out from my veil as I stepped outside. Smiling at the other women who called out greetings as I walked past them, I quickly made my way towards the secluded spot a few feet away from my women’s lodge.

I am from Iropora-Ekiti, Ekiti state but I grew up with my family in Northern Nigeria. We had lived there for so long, that when most people saw me, they mistook me for a northerner. Most times I actually also forget that I’m not from the north.

I was eighteen when I met Ayyub Sanusi. He was the son of my father's colleague and my father informed me that I would be marrying him. It was not that I detested Ayyub but I made it my life's work to disagree with whatever my father thought was the best for me, so I told him that I didn't like Ayyub and did not want to marry him. But my father was adamant and my mother was in support of the marriage.

No matter what, I had resolved within myself that I was going to marry for love. Growing up, I saw the cold relationship between my parents and I knew that I never wanted to be like them. Dad might have mellowed a bit for the past months but that didn't mean he wouldn't go crazy again. My mother added 'sir' to every sentence she said to my father as though he was her boss and he never ceased to use any available opportunity to insult her, regardless of whether there were people around or not. My father felt that displaying affection for one's wife wasn't manly and he instilled this belief in my older brother who grew up to be just like him. Whenever my father was angry, everyone rushed out of his way. He ruled with iron fists, reprimanding, insulting and cursing us; his children and wife for every mistake. And every time I looked at them, I promised myself that I would never be like them.

Ayyub began to visit every two weeks to see me. Although he was boring and cold sometimes, Ayyub was a bit caring and very religious. His morals ought to have made up for his coldness but his coldness reminded me of my father's and his gifts meant nothing to me.

Father began to change from his ways, slowly, for reasons I never knew. He even apologised to mother and began to take proper care of her but I never forgave him. Not for all the moments I would hide from his anger when I was young, not for all the times he would cast me aside in preference of his only male child, not for every time I had to beg for him to give anything to me, even my school fees! I never forgave him. It was too late anyway; he had destroyed my trust and respect for men. Especially the ‘oh-so-religious’ ones, to me they were the perfect reincarnation of my father: so religious, benevolent and respected to those outside but unjust, stingy and feared by his own family members.

Every time I looked at my father, I saw the man who asked me to kneel and apologise to a brother who cheated and beat me up in public. I never forgave him for that too.

Seeing no way out of marrying Ayyub, I urged him to allow me finish from university since I was already in my second year and surprisingly, he agreed and even helped me talk to my father.

Because of my beauty which wasn't even concealed in the veils and skirts which I usually wore, many men, including my lecturers and male course mates approached me for a relationship. All of which I declined, after all I was engaged to Ayyub. I had already accepted my fate even though I had no significant affection for him. Well other than the gratitude which emerges whenever he sends me money through his younger sister.

I was a source of entertainment to the class when a new lecturer came into the class, during the final semester of my second year. The man kept on staring at me and stammering. I started wearing knee length hijabs at school even though I didn't wear such at home in order to prevent such incidents. Being the one that a lecturer asked to see him after lectures was becoming embarrassing,

My mother's response to this was that, even if I wore a face veil, it won't stop men from flocking after me because it wasn't just my beauty which called them to me but the softness of my speech. She felt that getting married would reduce if not put an end to such, since the men would have to respect the fact that I am married. I begged her not to tell my father about this and she agreed.

Perhaps if she had told him, my dad would have insisted on me getting married as soon as possible then maybe my future might have changed. Then maybe I would have been spared all the pains I went through, but I would never know.

"Haneefah, it's time for prayer." Maryam, a few occupant of ‘Home of Hope’, a shelter for bereaved and battered women, called out even as the melodious voice of the muezzin resonated through the walls of the shelter.

"I'm coming!" I called back. Other women moved in groups to the place of worship but I walked alone.

I have been living in this shelter for the past eight years, moving from the rank of an ordinary occupant to one of the shelter's accountants over the last three years. If I wanted, I could have left the shelter, rented a house outside and lived on my salary but only this place gave me peace and happiness.

"Oh Lord, forgive me my transgressions. Grant me that which is good in the hereafter and save me from the fire of hell." I supplicated as I stood up from my prayer mat and walked back to my room.

I met Isah on the first day of my third year in the university. Oh what a bright day it was, I believe it was love at first sight. He had just started his PhD in my university, he was doing his registration and then asked to lend my pen but even as I extended my pen to him, he kept on staring at me. Only this time, it wasn't only him doing the staring. I was staring right back at him.

He was half-arab and half-hausa, he had a beard and the tip of his pointed nose shone under the bright northern sun. I fell in love with him the moment he smiled and took the pen from me. I fell without restraint, head first in love with him and oh, what a wonderful feeling it was!

I always thought it was a myth that the heart beats faster when we see someone we love but my heart proved me wrong. It beat twice perhaps thrice faster than was normal whenever I set my eyes on him.

Isah Yusuf Al-Razam our love was maddening, consuming and greedy. He flashed his disarming smile at me again as he glanced at my ID card, probably memorizing my name or perhaps my department and level.

I met him again two weeks later when I escorted my roommate, Ramlah to her parent's house in order to pick up some foodstuffs. Isah was Ramlah's cousin and foster brother and when Ramlah introduced us, he simply smiled at me not giving away the fact that we had already met before.

"I’m Isah Yusuf Al-Razam." Those were the first words he said, immediately Ramlah left us in the sitting room and my heart made a spin at sound of his voice. I felt hot and flustered. He did the whole talking until Ramlah came down and all I got out was a croaking sound and a nervous smile.

From that day forth we spoke everyday through one of the landlines in our hostel’s common room. We became a couple with Ramlah’s blessing and I only remember that Ayyub whenever he calls which was occasionally or his sister delivers some more money to me. Ayyub never called me unless he had something important to discuss. He claims it's because we weren't married yet and it wasn't right but I knew it's because we didn't have that kind of a relationship. After all, he was my father's candidate. There shouldn't have been any talk about affections, except that Ayyub was in love with me. But I remained unmoved even after discovering this through his sister. Isah was my perfect man, my only love.

A knock brought me out of my musings and I invited the person in without asking who it was, knowing that it couldn't be man. There were no men in the shelter except for the menial workers and none of them had any cause to visit the occupants of the shelter.

"Your man is here to see you." Aisha, another occupant informed me with a teasing grin.

"My man?" I asked returning her smile though I already knew who she was referring to.

"Which man always comes to visit you?" Aisha rolled her eyes. "He is waiting under the mango tree outside.”

She left after I told her I would be there in a minute and I resisted the urge to dab a bit of makeup on my face as I made my way out. I wanted to look beautiful to him.

As always, he was simply dressed in suit pants and a shirt. His dressing did not project the image of a multimillionaire that he is but one couldn't mistake the air of authority that surrounded him. He still stood straight at four inches above six feet and his dark skin glinted under the rays of the sun that managed to sneak through the leaves of the huge mango tree.

He turned and smiled at me as I approached him. "As salamu alaykum, Haneefah."

"Wa alaykum salam, Ayyub." I replied with a smile so wide that if I attempted to widen it I was sure my cheeks would tear. He held my hand and helped me onto one of the two chairs under the tree. "Stop treating me like an old woman. I am just forty."

He smiled down at me. "Forty-four you mean?"

"No, I stopped counting four years ago."

"Ah, I see. Then forty it is." He replied with barely contained mirth. "So how are you?" He asked taking his seat.

"Alhamdullilah, Ayyub. I am fine."

"Why don't you come home with me, Haneefah?" He asked me earnestly.

"My home is with Allah, Ayyub." I replied, deliberately misunderstanding him. The man had the hide of an elephant, thick enough that my repeated rejection of him did not stop him from coming back again.

He didn't argue with me or persuade me to go with him but launched into his next topic of discussion. We sat under that shade until it was sunset, then he left and even before he got to the gate; my soul missed his presence.

And as always, as I prayed that night, I uttered the words, "Oh Lord, forgive me my transgressions. Grant me that which is good in the hereafter and save me from the fire of hell." Never for once in the last eight years have I prayed for anything concerning my current life. Why should I pray for a life which is already empty?

Have you ever made a decision, a wrong one with your eyes wide open? A tactless blunder and then wish you could go back in time to change it? Sadly for me, time travel machines do not exist.

I only pray for the hereafter because I have stopped living. My heart died little by little years ago when sorrow became a permanent resident of my home and I stopped living the day my sorrow, which I had nursed with care and cherished, died.

I really, really do long for an eraser to erase my mistakes, and then maybe, just maybe Usman might still be alive.

~~~~~~~~~~
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I.R Adams.